Jonah Joestar
by Mcewanman
Summary: Hunted by a group of strange people with even stranger abilities, Jonah Joestar is forced to travel across Spain. Assembling a team of inexperienced stand users, will he get to the bottom of the plan against him? An action-y sorta Part 9, uses only OCs.
1. Chapter 1

Airports always leave people tired, particularly if it's been a long flight. Three hours wasn't too bad, he supposed, but still tiring and boring. Stepping out from the loud chatter and air conditioning into the relative quiet and heat of the outside, he looked around to see a man holding a sign for his name. He was soon in his taxi, trying to relax for the hour-long ride to his resort. To pass the time he unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket.

 _"Mr Jonah Joestar_

 _It has come to our attention that your family are being investigated for suspicious activity relating to your abilities. You are to be separated and relocated for a brief time, after which you will be reunited with your names cleared. This should take around a fortnight, but may be longer if further suspicion is raised. Keep a low profile, as there are more people of your kind than we anticipated prior to arranging this trip._

 _All the Best_

 _David Chan_

 _Brando Law Firm."_

Jonah scowled – why were they sending him out? What had his family done? And what abilities were they referring to? He wracked his brains but came up with nothing. Maybe dad had been a master thief back in the day and was finally caught. Always had that twinkle in his eye that said he knew something. Regardless, Jonah had no idea. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and shut his eyes.

A while later the car came to a stop. Jonah opened one eye, but saw they were still on the road – he eyeballed the driver, who applied the handbrake and got out the car.

"Lo siento, señor. Just stretching my legs."

"It's fine, I could do with that myself."

The two leaned against the taxi, drinking water and talking. The driver was surprisingly young, around Jonah's age of 19. His dark skin and hair contrasted with his light complexion, giving an almost Viking appearance. His height helped, as he towered over people here.

"Have to say, you're a bit young for this."

"Ah well, not much money to myself. I live nearby anyway so it's good money to do something easy."

The lisp and "eet" noise in place of "I" betrayed his local accent, despite his very articulate English.

"What's your name? You look a bit out of place."

"Mi nombre es Jonah, Jonah Joestar."

"Never speak Spanish again, sounds like you got no emotion."

They both laughed, the heat escaping their minds.

"¿Cómo se llama?" Jonah drawled out in a Speedy Gonzales sort of voice.

"Stop, Dios mío. My name's Ricardo."

"Like Ricardo Montalbán?"

"Yeah but I'm no Khan. Fighting's not in my nature, running makes much more sense – you avoid getting hurt and nobody comes after you so long as you didn't start the fight."

"What if it's a fight for something you care about?"

"Very few things fit that description."

Jonah rolled his eyes but decided to leave it.

"Good to meetcha. We'd better get going though, siesta time's nearly over and we better avoid the traffic."

They were about to get in, when they realised the car was gone. For a moment, they just stared at the empty space before Ricardo began freaking out.

"Mierda, mierda, mierda, mierda, mierda. My boss is gonna kill me!"

"Calm down, we're not far from town. Let's walk, then go to the police."

"No, no, no, no, no, if I lose this it comes out of my paycheck. Can't lose that."

"That's why we need to get them quick so it's easier to catch whoever nicked it."

"How did they even do that? I have the keys right here."

The word abilities ran through Jonah's mind for a moment before he dismissed it.

"Something's wrong. You got a weapon?"

"No."

"Guess I'll have to rely on the old kickboxing."

He entered a fighting stance, throwing his arms up in anticipation.

"Come on out! I know you're hiding somewhere!"

"But where?" chuckled a voice in his ear.

Jonah threw a punch in the direction but connected with nothing. He backed up, and hit something solid despite being on the road – he felt smooth metal despite it looking like empty space.

"Ricardo, I found the car." He shakily explained.

"What?" he felt the air. "Joder…"

Jonah started looking around frantically, then a thought struck. It felt ludicrous but it felt like the only explanation.

"I think this guy's invisible." Ricardo gave an incredulous look but Jonah continued before he could interrupt. "Look, the car's here but we just can't see it. And I think this guy is the same, he can probably make stuff invisible, and he just uses it on himself."

"Perceptive." Came a voice from some ways away, near a tree. "But a bit hasty."

Jonah felt a fist crash into his face, sending his head crashing into the car roof.

"WRONG!" bellowed the voice, suddenly angry.

Jonah jumped up and started swinging his fist, but again connected with nothing. Getting pissed he punched the car in frustration.

"Why can't we…" he began to growl before he stared at the car. A huge crack has appeared in the space where the car should have been. Without even thinking he began punching the crack, and it crumbled away to reveal the black metal of the taxi. Before he could investigate further, he suddenly felt the fist again, bashing his cheek and making him spit blood. This time it continued punching, a bad move as he swung a right hook which connected. The space cracked and fell backward. It crumbled, revealing one of the strangest things Jonah had ever seen.

It was like a person, only coloured white with gold highlights. It appeared to have a face made from two sheets of glass wrapped around the head and a thin, almost skeletal body with eight odd protrusions in rows from the legs up to the chest.

"What the hell is that?" Jonah spluttered.

Ricardo, who had stepped back and watched all of this, gave him a confused look.

"What is what? All I see is my car appearing again and you punching a bunch of air."

Jonah looked back, but it was still there – and had fists raised for another punch. With a jump, he dodged it and stepped back in to retaliate, but his fist passed through it. However it hit something behind it, another cracking space that jerked back and fell apart. It revealed a man, around his 20s wearing a red suit and clutching his face in pain. His dreadlocks contrasted the shape of the white thing, which was hovering behind him.

"Got you now!" Jonah cried in excitement – his blood boiled with adrenaline. He swung but the white thing stepped in and punched him, harder than ever. Recoiling, he fell back. The white thing grabbed him and began punching Jonah in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Individually, its punches were rather light, but fast and rattling off like a machine gun. Jonah crumpled onto the ground as the man controlling it walked nonchalantly over.

"Boy, it was enough of a pain arranging to get the same flight as you, and now you seem to be even more of a pain. Just lie down now, and I'll take you out quickly."

Jonah considered it, but decided death probably wasn't much fun. He desperately looked around, but true to his word Ricardo was gone.

Well he warned me in advance, I guess, Jonah thought. Wait a sec, I'm about to die I'll kill him if I get out of this.

The man noticed this and laughed, the deep laugh of someone who knows he's won. "I had fun with our little game, it was good to watch you lose your head. But now I need to say goodbye. 「Paint It Black?」"

So that was what it was called. Nice to know. Bye mum, dad. I guess I wasn't cut out for this after all.

As this thought passed through his head and Paint it Black's fist was about to do the same, the sound of an engine startled them. The man whirled round to see the taxi inches away, the bumper hitting him in the stomach and throwing him back. It passed over him, just missing anything vital but he was wounded, and shell-shocked. Raising his head, he saw the local boy get out and look to his friend.

He sat up to see his target standing over him, grinning smugly.

"So, how's it feel being on the ground?"

"I-I-I-I..."

He tried to jump up, but couldn't move. Looking down, he saw his legs coated in a blue material. It was sticky, yet rigid as if it was bolted to the ground. Paint it Black reflected this, unable to get close enough to Jonah or even move at all.

"This thing can't move either, huh? Pity. Tell me, you had a name for that thing right?"

As he said that, a similar being appeared, standing behind him.

"I don't what it is, but when I saw Ricardo here helping me… It appeared. For some reason, feels as if I've known him all my life."

It was muscular in appearance, the colour of summer leaves. Its face was calm and stoic, with armour riding up its arms and forming an iron criss-cross pattern over the heart. It had a pair of small horns atop its head. Jonah eyeballed it with an odd sense of calm.

"So if we name them…"

He stuck his foot out, standing side on and raised his fist, regarding his enemy with a force of sheer anger. The being did the same at the opposite angle, making it appear like a bizarre reflection.

"Using your power in such a cowardly way. Unforgivable."

The man opened his mouth to beg, argue, scream. He wasn't sure which, but he didn't have time to attempt it.

"「Immigrant Song!」"

It hammered out a barrage of punches, Johan screaming "KAKAKAKAKAKAKA" with each syllable punctuating the punch. On the final punch, it changed to "HAKKAA!"

The paste disappeared, and the punches sent him sprawling. Paint it Black disappeared as he fell into unconsciousness. After checking his pulse, Jonah stood up and saw his had disappeared. Ricardo was staring in disbelief.

"Does screaming like a crazy person knock people out? Man, I should get involved into fights more often."

Jonah grinned, giving a thumbs up. There was no need to ask why he'd helped – some people, no matter how hard they deny it, just feel the need. After a quick call to the police and tying the unconscious man to a tree, they piled back in the taxi and drove off towards the resort, a pleasant sunset shimmering across the emerald ocean.


	2. Chapter 2 - Oxygen

Chapter 2 - Oxygen

Their trip was far less eventful afterward, although they talked a lot more now – Jonah was "buzzing" in his own words and Ricardo was whistling along to the radio and taking a little less care while driving. Eventually the resort came into view, essentially a bunch of nice apartments on a mountain. After checking in, Ricardo was happy to help Jonah with his luggage. They came to his lodgings and dropped it off. An idea came to them at the steps;

"Hey, I don't just want you to piss off after what happened there. Wanna get dinner?"

Ricardo took a moment to think, then nodded. Shortly after they found themselves at an American-style burger joint, sitting outside and chatting like old friends.

"So-so I say to him," Jonah was trying to keep a straight face. "How can you hate a sceptic tank when your house is basically the same?"

The two howled in laughter, the context making the joke all the better.

"Joder, that's gold. Did you ever get your money back?"

"Nah he left for Canada or something. I'd be miffed but that insult was worth twice what he owed if I'm honest."

"Gotta stay positive."

"Exactly. You got much to keep you positive?"

"Just a couple siblings, nothing major. I don't see them much, they live down in Fuengirola."

"That's a bit far, why you this far away?"

"It's like a 2 hour drive, I visit weekends. I'm studying at Madrid Uni and I need the money, taxi driving lets me see the sights and make cash."

"And do in weirdos with punching ghosts."

"I still don't know how any of this works. So, this thing appears beside you and punches his one? And for some reason I can't see it?"

"Sums it up."

They were quiet, unsure where to go from there. Luckily the food arrived to break the awkward silence, and they ate happily. Ricardo had ordered a ton of food, typical Spanish eating pattern, while Jonah had gone for a regular burger. He picked out all the tomatoes – thoughts of red things weren't pleasant right now. Still, he supposed he was dressed a little loud – an open jacket with no undershirt, coloured a deep blue and shorts with small rectangular cuts in it to let in more air. Ricardo was a bit soberer, just a T shirt and jeans. Still had this odd hat on for shade.

They finished eating and headed off. However, on the way up the road Jonah's eyes lit up – he had spotted a bar. A drink was what he needed the most. Ricardo protested but still followed him in, a fairly quiet one full of families. Still they served Tenants and accepted "Señor Joestar's" ID. The two shared a few beers, talking for what felt like half an hour but was actually three or four, with alcohol to suit that timespan. Having this ability amused Jonah greatly, and he kept making the paste stick people's glasses to the counter. It was never any less funny watching them tug at their glass, check their muscles then complain to an increasingly annoyed barman who kept having to lift up glasses for people. Jonah had worked out how to dissolve the paste at will, which added to the hilarity of messing with people.

At about 2 in the morning they stumbled out of the bar, arms around each other's shoulders and singing a slurred rendition of "That's Amore." Somehow, they got to the apartment without incident, and after some confusion over who got which room they bid each other a good night and crashed into a deep sleep.

A loud banging sound pierced Jonah's skull, causing him to awake. He didn't notice Immigrant Song appear in a defensive stance, nor did he notice it relax then disappear. It turned out to be the cleaning lady at the door, and after a few hurried "come back later"s and broken Spanish she left. Grumpily, Jonah made toast and idly munched it while looking down at the nearby pool. His brain was coming online, firstly noticing the shapely hips of a woman sunbathing, then the stale beer taste in his mouth and finally the memory of Ricardo using the other room. He peeked round and saw he was still sound asleep – it was only 9am after all, for some reason he woke early after drinking. Leaving a note saying "gone to grab teabags + milk use the flat as you like," he left for a walk to go shopping and maybe talk to that girl at the pool.

The sunlight shone at the perfect angle to get in Ricardo's eyes, forcing him to awake. He sat up and stretched, feeling thankfully free of a hangover. Little known fact, big dinners absorb alcohol. Checking the living room, he found the note and nodded. The plan was to wait for him to come back, say his goodbyes, exchange numbers and then go back to work.

This was all shot in the head by, well, a shot to the head. He was only vaguely aware of something going through him before he fell on the floor, blood spilling and darkness growing.

"Seriously? Damn. Well, see you around? Yeah, sure, Saturday sounds good." Jonah smiled at the girl as she walked off, those hips swaying beautifully at him.

"Ricardo, you'll never guess what I pulled – just look out… the…. doooor…."

He trailed off when he realised his friend lying on the floor, oddly dry despite the blood running across the marble floor. Immediately Immigrant Song was behind him, keeping watch as he tended to Ricardo. There seemed to be no injuries, which was a little suspicious. Looking to the left he saw a golden arrow lying on the floor, covered in dried blood. A note was tied to it and had miraculously stayed clean.

If you live, meet at beach at 5pm.

"At least he's direct."

Jonah checked Ricardo for any more injuries, sighing with relief that he was breathing. He then went to the balcony and tried to find a shooter – sadly, nothing out of the ordinary. As he was checking, he heard a scream. Whirling around, Jonah saw Ricardo looking rather distressed at the blood.

"What happened? Am I dead Mierdamierdamierdamierda…"

"You're fine, get a grip!"

He still hyperventilated, so Jonah took a cup of water and doused him. He wasn't sure if that worked outside of movies but at least it quietened his friend.

"Look, see this note? We'll find and catch whoever did this. We need to prepare though, follow me."

Ricardo noted an odd look in Jonah's eyes – much more contemplative and serious than he was used to. He followed without protest.

Come 5, they stood on the beach and waited. The letter hadn't been specific but this was the rockier bit filled with crabs that tourists avoided and was kept out of view for fear of ruining the carefully crafted scenery. Ricardo kept scratching the back of his neck – something felt off. Jonah was back to his usual relaxed posture, but still had an edge about him. They said nothing to each other, keeping a careful eye out for danger.

Eventually a man emerged from a corner and began striding towards them. He wore a lot of denim, with a jacket and baggy jeans to match, a white shirt with a red lightning bolt underneath all of it. It seemed as if he'd walked right out of a 70s movie.

"Hello, boys." He said in a calm, almost teacher-like voice. "Glad to see you both."

Johan stuck his hands in his pockets. "What do you want?"

"Cutting straight to the point, are we? I like that. I'll do the same then, mutuality is key I always say."

Nobody had any idea what he meant by that. "We recently lost a member of our… group. We wanted to get some replacements, and we thought you two were the perfect candidates. Did you bring the arrow?"

Jonah shook his head. "Didn't think to bring it." A lie – he'd just decided against it.

"Ah." There was a pause. "Well, we will need that back. We have more but –"

"What do you want?" again it was like Jonah had switched to a completely different person.

"My, how hostile. But as I say, mutuality – am I not showing you courtesy? Please do the same." All the honeyed words in the world couldn't hide that slight grit in his voice. "After all we're here to offer you a job."

"And what would that be?"

"Working for our… group. Think of us as a group people hire when they have no other jobs doing."

"Mercenaries," Ricardo blurted without any thought but absolute certainty.

"Sometimes. We procure goods, move them around for clients, help in legal proceedings…"

"Smuggling, illegal trade and Money laundering." It was like the words escaped his mouth on their own.

"Perceptive. You'll be useful, my friend. Have you learned of your stand ability yet?"

They both stared at him blankly. He laughed, they were like kids when you tried to explain something complex.

"Stands. Your abilities are known as stands."

"Ability. Only one of us has one."

"Which one?"

"Not your business."

A vein appeared on the man's head. "Look, kid. I've tried being nice, and I'm offering you something very, very good. Show me some goddamn respect or there's gonna be trouble."

Jonah grinned. "Made you lose your cool."

A red fist appeared and tried to punch him, streaking at incredible speed. It was pushed back by a green arm, as Immigrant Song appeared and deflected the blow. The arm retracted back into its master, who was looking somewhere between smug and angered.

"So, you're the stand user, boy. I'm guessing it was you I hit with that arrow?"

"Yup." Sometimes a lie is better than withheld information.

"Well, I'm afraid we have no use for the other one."

A red fist streaked towards Ricardo, who dodged it with surprising agility.

"Ooh, you're fast kid."

The red arms began a flurry of blows, but Immigrant song struck him with one of its own. He reeled, spitting in anger. The stand had fully formed, a red humanoid with a row of spikes across the head insectoid eyes, thin, almost mechanical arms and no visible legs – simply a trail of red haze stretching to the user.

"I feel it's only fair to introduce myself, now that I've seen your stand. My name is José de la Cierva, and this is 「Space Oddity.」Unfortunately, you are being uncooperative and I cannot leave loose ends. Therefore, you must be eliminated."

"You're telling us a lot." Jonah mused. "Any chance you're going to tell me what it can do?"

"Not unless you tell me."

There was a moment of silence as they eyed other, waiting for the first move. Sticky paste launched at Cierva, but something deflected it. Following suit was a sudden barrage of pain racking Jonah's body, who fell to one knee groaning. Space Oddity took the opportunity to charge in, an audible *crack* with a single right hook. It sent him sprawling, fighting to stay conscious. Despite this he managed to stand again, staggering and spitting blood.

"How… how is your – erm… Stand, right? How can it move away from you? I thought they were attached to you?"

To illustrate the point, Immigrant Song tried to rush him but was yanked to a halt by some invisible tether.

"Still alive while knowing so little. I'm almost impressed."

The air around Jonah seemed to rush, and he just made out black streaks moving around him. As this thought passed through, Ricardo crashed into him – a loud *crunch* was heard, and they fell back. They looked at where they had been standing, where a small pile of rocks was smouldering.

"I don't know how," Ricardo panted. "But I keep feeling them when they're around."

"What are they?"

"Rocks, I think. No idea what he's doing to them."

With a nod, Jonah got to his feet, facing his opponent down. Cierva was watching Ricardo carefully, a calculating expression which didn't even focus on his actual opponent.

"Tell me, can you see our stands boy?"

The reply was a shake of the head, but his eyes were clearly focused on Space Oddity.

"Ah-ah-ah, you can. So you're both stand users."

The wind picked up again, this time around Ricardo. It was like his body moved for him, he felt where the rocks were going to strike and stepped aside the effortlessly.

"Ugh, what can it do? How are you doing that?" Cierva cried. He seemed agitated.

"Don't know, but it seems to be annoying, mi hermano. Besides I'm not the one you should focus on."

With newfound confidence, Jonah was walking towards his opponent at a casual pace. Cierva snarled, the wind picking up again and sending rocks smashing into him. Curiously, the other boy did not react.

"What, can you not pick it up all the time?"

"No, just not when he's in danger."

Looking again, Cierva saw Jonah was undeterred. The rocks clung to his body but had done no visible damage. He gave a frustrated whine and tried another barrage, only for no effect. His body seemed to just absorb the impact like it was nothing.

"How are you doing that? G-get away from me!"

As he got closer the answer was clear – a thin sheet of blue paste covered him. Immigrant Song grabbed some rocks off it, throwing them back and forth in its hands meaningfully.

"Ricardo?"

"¿Si?"

"Howsabout we finish this arsehole off together?"

"I like the sound of that."

When he said that, something appeared next to Ricardo – a small shield, with a canine motif on it. Four eyes covered each corner, looking frantically around. A little red smoke ebbed from it.

Seeing this spurred Ricardo on, who walked to Cierva alongside his friend. The smuggler tried to run, but found his feet wouldn't move – a blue paste held him in place. Ricardo threw the first punch, a solid hook.

"It doesn't look like it can attack, but you can still blame「Oxygen」for your loss."

The following barrage was like they were at a punchbag, with Immigrant Song pummelling the face while Ricardo kept dealing blows to the stomach. When they felt he'd had enough, Jonah removed the paste to let him fall then reattached him to the ground.

"I must say," he mused. "Levitating rocks is a little mundane but I guess if you can do it fast enough it can definitely be scary."

Cierva spat blood onto the rocks. "My boss will be furious. There's tons of us, and only two of you. Do what you want with me, but mark my words – I'll be the one laughing in the end. Only felt fair to warn you."

Immigrant Song dealt a knockout blow, shutting him down. After another call to the police, they left before anyone could work out what had happened or who did it. They got to the apartment, Jonah opening the fridge and getting out a beer. Ricardo was running back and forth grabbing things to pack, raising the larger boy's eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to go! They'll be after us. Cierva said so."

"Yeah but they won't work out its us, will they?"

"If they know it was us he arranged to meet then they'll put two and two together."

"Still got time."

"No we don't! Honestly let's just – "

But Jonah had already flopped on the couch and was watching the TV. He checked his phone, texts from that girl from earlier lighting up his phone. Ricardo had no idea what to do – he didn't want to leave his friend, but he was freaking out. He started hyperventilating again, which earned him an incredulous look.

"Look, just have a few Coronas. We'll leave tomorrow but I just wanna rest. Giving up a date with a girl just to recuperate."

"We're sitting ducks though."

"We'll be the same on the road. It's night so they'll be able to do us without getting caught. We stay in our apartment so the can't catch us on the street then head out when traffic gets heavy."

Ricardo stared. Once again, it was like a switch flipped and it was a completely different. Still, he saw the logic, begrudgingly getting himself and beer and lying on the other couch. They whiled the night away with talk of celebrities and the news, talk only dying when a report came out of a local smuggler being found on the beach and swiftly jailed.


	3. Chapter 3 - Salvador

Chap 3

As they had planned, the two set off about midday, packing their luggage into the car while casting furtive looks and keeping conversation to a minimum. Driving over was uneventful with mostly Ricardo yelling insults at bad drivers and Jonah messing with the radio. After a while of this he leaned back and sighed.

"Rick, why do you guys play all our music but we don't play yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"They're playing chainsmokers, but they're American, right?"

"Yeah. And shit."

"Agreed, but that's beside the point - music in English is played in Spain but I never hear Spanish music back home."

"I guess it just doesn't sell there."

He grunted and switched to a Spanish channel. The rest of the journey was mostly silent, which was nice. Things had been so loud the past couple days so he liked the calm, with the revving of the engine and the feeling of the car carrying him soothing his mind. After about 20 minutes he fell asleep, leaving Ricardo to his thoughts. Eventually he was roused from his sleep by the slowing of the car and the engine stopping. Opening his eyes, he saw the most beautiful place he had ever seen.

The buildings were old, like something out of a movie – all renaissance era and of a cream that caught the midday sunlight perfectly. Tourists lined the streets as people ran up to them trying to sell sunglasses and other merchandise. As he got out of the car Jonah rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grinned at Ricardo.

"Lovely here, eh? What is this place?"

"Granada. It's an old city, but popular enough."

"Suppose. Why'd we stop here anyway?"

"We need to put distance between ourselves and whoever's after us. I'd have gone to Fuengirola but I'm not putting my family in danger."

"So, what you're saying is we're stuck with each other 'til this whole situation gets sorted out?"

"I guess so, but we get along well enough. Besides, we fight well together right? These stands are pretty useful."

They continued to walk, not bothering to keep their voices down. As they walked to their hostel, Jonah kept feeling the need to look over his shoulder, the star-shaped birthmark below it feeling odd. It was hard to describe, sort of a buzzing heat. Still he knew there wasn't much point in paying attention – the crowd was too big to pick out any one person, and a stand battle in the open would be a bad idea. Despite this he kept an eye out for suspicious people, none of which stood out to him.

Hostels are a bit different to hotels in that they're basically a crapshoot. Hotels have a baseline for how nice your stay will be, and it only gets better. On the other hand, a hostel can range from a cosy lodge to Russian prison in terms of quality. Luckily, Jonah was satisfied with it – clean rooms and decent people, which was all he could ask for really. The mark still itched, and it was really starting to annoy him. After scratching proved ineffective he and Ricardo went downstairs for dinner; a nice meal would take his mind off it. The place took a different look at night, the streetlights making little pools of orange along the asphalt. Still there were plenty of tourists, so there was no reason to worry. They found a small Italian place, got a table and made their orders. Jonah looked around, noting the décor was simple but definitely Italian, as little flower baskets hung around with olive branches painted onto the walls.

"Jonah, I've been meaning to ask…"

"What?"

"How can you afford all these hotels and resorts? You don't seem that rich."

"I'm good at saving money, I don't have too many needs. I work when I'm not in classes so I've pooled together a good amount."

Ricardo nodded in acknowledgement. At that moment, someone new entered the restaurant. It was too early for most people to go out to eat so Jonah and Ricardo had had the place to themselves, and his intrusion was a little bit of a conversation killer.

His dark hair was arranged into a careful pair of bangs at the front, so symmetrical it was impossible not to notice. They hung over his chiselled face and bright eyes, which showed a serious, calculating expression. He wore black leather trousers with a matching cardigan. His midriff was visible, showing a tattoo of an intricate design: a heart, with several markings around it and a pair of messages reading "Move Forward" heading in both directions, perfectly symmetrical once again.

For a moment, he simply observed, as the waiters were busy and weren't going to lead him to a table. Then he approached Jonah and Ricardo.

"I'm sorry, but I hate to eat on my own in such a quiet place. Would you two mind if I join you?"

Ricardo was about to object, but Jonah motioned to the spare chair at the table. "Be our Guest."

"Ah, thank you. I suppose I haven't introduced myself, I'm Salvador Domínguez. Pleasure to meet you two."

His politeness made Ricardo relax a little, although Jonah eyed him with the usually slightly vacant look he gave. They sat in awkward silence, trying to think of a conversation starter. Salvador seemed unbothered, as he ordered himself some prosecco and drank it delicately while looking out at the people. Although he would not admit it, the Star birthmark was burning on Jonah. It wasn't painful per se but it was aggravating. Despite his relaxed expression his mind was racing, and he had no idea what to do.

Salvador's silence was the most unsettling thing – he didn't have Ricardo's scrunched shoulders and bead of sweat, nor the complete relaxation Jonah feigned. He simply sat there, idly drinking his wine and thinking to himself. Luckily the atmosphere settled a little once the food arrived.

Jonah inspected his pasta, and noticed something odd – a plate of chips had been left there too, despite them not ordering any sides. However, he could never resist a nice plate of chips so salted and gleefully ate them. Meanwhile, Ricardo's Caesar salad had little bits of meat in them, probably chicken. He was going to complain but after trying a bit it was absolutely delicious, so kept going. Salvador watched with mild interest, eating some plain spaghetti Bolognese.

After the meal, Jonah and Ricardo leaned back and sighed contentedly – that was the best meal either of them had had in weeks. With another sip of wine, Salvador stood up.

"Well it was a pleasure, but I really must go – I'll leave my portion of the bill, of course."

"You sure? You seem alright, how about you come down to the pub with us?"

Ricardo raised an eyebrow, considering he hadn't been informed of doing that but went along with it.

"Well if you insist I'm not particularly busy tonight. Yes, I think that would be agreeable."

There was something behind his calm smile, just for a moment, that sent alarm bells in Jonah's head. Still, it wasn't enough to condemn him or anything and he'd already accepted.

When they went to pay the bill, Ricardo noticed something odd – the price was far lower than it should've been, even accounting for the extra food which wasn't even listed. Ricardo opened his mouth to speak to the waitress.

"Sorry Señora, but the bill is-"

"Much cheaper than expected for the quality, seriously tell the chef he's a genius."

"Well yes and-"

"Ah good point Ricardo. Here's your money, and a little tip."  
Jonah rushed the other two out the restaurant. With a snarl, Ricardo started drilling him.

"What was that? We paid way less than they deserved!"

"Well yeah, you telling me you'll let opportunity slip through your fingers? That's boring."

Salvador remained silent, almost bored by the conversation. The other two bickered about this for a while but by the time they came to the bar it was largely forgotten. They all ordered, with Jonah getting a pint of tenants, a corona for Ricardo and more prosecco for Salvador. Once again Salvador said very little, but at least commented on the football. It was Madrid vs Barcelona, always a fun rivalry.

"Why fight over the location you were born? It makes no sense for a country, so why extend that ridiculous logic to the city you're from?"

"It's just how people are I suppose, not much you can do."

They continued drinking, but after a while Jonah noted a strange phenomenon – they weren't being charged. Every time he asked for a drink, the barman simply handed it to them and made no request for money. Ricardo slightly ruined it, asking;

"Do we have a tab going?"

"No, you no pay Señor."

Jonah grinned and ordered a pitcher of Bacardi and coke to celebrate. Eventually they all came out of the bar, Jonah holding it decently despite the amount he'd had and Ricardo a little peeved at the exploitation but not complaining that he got free booze either.

"I gotta say," Jonah chuckled. "Ever since we met you Salvador things have been going great. Stick around, I think you bring good luck."

"Do not be so sure, Mr Joestar."

"How so?"

"Everything balances. No matter how pleasant things are, an equally miserable occurrence will appear later on. Such is the only universal law of this world."

Jonah tried to process this but his alcohol-addled mind just let it pass. However, then he felt odd – like something was nudging him onto the road. As that thought crossed his mind, the sound of an engine and blinding light pushed into his brain. He looked, saw the car and knew there was nothing he could do. It slammed into him, sending him sprawling. Blood gushed as the tarmac tore the skin on his back and his head slammed against the ground, sending waves of pain crashing in his mind. For a moment everything was so loud, then deathly silent. Despite his wounds and the pain, he managed to cast a look at Salvador, who had a stone cold expression with those bright eyes piercing into him.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Life of Cusí Domínguez

As Jonah fades into the black, we turn to a new story. It concerns Salvador Domínguez, the new companion striding into our current tale.

It began when he was younger than his current 24 years - at this point he was 8. At this point in his life he only had his father – his mother had died some years prior, exactly how was considered a secret. His father, Cusí, a man almost always sharply dressed and quiet, was well known for only thinking of his son. He was frequently seen carrying his boy on his shoulder when they went into town and making sure he got home safe from school. Unfortunately, there were days when work got in the way so he drilled his son rigorously on safety and showed him the routes to take to avoid being hurt if he was on his own.

This was one of those days as Young Salvador, or just Salva to his friends, walked home on his own. People passed, all dressed in formal attire and carrying briefcases but never anyone he knew or children his age. He came across an alleyway, the shadows hiding what lay ahead despite the afternoon sun behind him. Little known fact – children have more acute hearing than adults and so can hear a wider range of sound. As such, Salva heard worrying noises – spluttering, gushing, and muffled voices around a corner. Taking care not to kick a bin as he walked past, he took a peek. A man was kneeling next to another, making odd movements with his hands, swinging him arms downwards. The glimmer of a knife in what little light there was sent panic running through him like an electric shock, and he darted to get away.

In his haste, the bin clattered to the ground and made him freeze – heavy footsteps from behind made him cry out, sweat and tears running down his cheeks. He sprinted as far as he could towards the light, to help, to safety. Alas, it was not to be; a pair of hands seized him by his shirt, and he was hoisted up for inspection by the man. Heavily built, with a beard arranged into a series of squares and with a forehead like the San Andreas fault. Salva struggled with all the success of a fly in a cat's mouth. With an agonizing slam, he was thrown to the wall, and the pain only continued – a knee thumped into his nose, punches cracked across his entire body. Normally he was grateful for his tenacity but it just made the pain last longer.

After what felt like hours but was probably seconds of agony, it stopped. The man bent down, eye-to-eye with the child.

"You. Saw. Nothing. If you tell anyone, I'll do this to you again, only worse. You understand?"

Salva remained silent.

"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" was the roar that broke his stupor. He gave a weak nod, and the man nodded before calling an ambulance. He mimicked the voice of a young woman surprisingly well, deceiving the operator that he was a witness that ran away after making the call. This was the last thing Salva registered before fading into black.

The first thing he noticed was the fan on the ceiling, gently spinning in a steady manner. Soft bedsheets and throbbing pain fought for dominance in his brain, and the overall whiteness made him deflate. As he fell back, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He sobbed into the night, and only stopped when the nurses came in the morning. A younger one was all over him, tended to the black eyes and various bruises all over him. The broken bones were attended to by a doctor, and as this was attended to his father strode in, a dark look on his face and phone at his ear as he demanded answers from the police before hanging up in frustration. For a while they just watched, their child sobbing as a splint was applied and bandages wrapped over his arm. After the doctors left, his father walked over and bent down to look at his son. He put a reassuring hand on his head, and let him cry without saying a word. Being there was all his child needed.

However, after a while, he had to pull away to talk to the doctor Salva understood, but it hurt like all hell. The conversation was initially harsh, but voices began to raise and there was definitely more vitriol from his father. Eventually it all fell silent and his father returned with that reassuring smile back. However, he stayed back and simply spoke.

"Son, visiting hours are almost up. I'm trying to get it set up that I can visit all the time but I need more time, OK?"

Salva held back tears but nodded, and his father grinned.

"'Atta boy. But I just need to ask you something – who did this? We'll find him, mark my words. We'll find him and give him what he did to you back, only a hundred times worse."

Despite his reassuring act, even the slightly delirious son felt the burning rage behind that statement. He opened his mind to speak, only for flashes to come of the man who beat him to come rushing back. He clutched his head and took breaths to calm down. Words just wouldn't come out. His father sighed, but had to nod in understanding.

"It's OK. We're searching for him anyway, and when you're ready it'll be a big help." 

Unfortunately for him, his son was never ready. Salva never spoke after that day, the smallest words sending waves of panic through him. Gradually he forgot about that day, going through life as normal. But living without words is a curious thing – academically he excelled, but making friends was difficult. Cusí still spent plenty of time with him, but as they never caught the man who had done it, there was a rage beneath him. It tore him apart, watching his son become increasingly separated from others. Hearing his son's voice was all he wanted, and though he never let Salva see, he was burning up inside.

This came to a head when Salva was 15. As with any other day, he came home expecting to find his father as usual, in his armchair and watching the TV, ready to give that usual smile. Instead, he came into the living room to find the television on and a newspaper on the ground but no dad. In the kitchen, he found his answer – a note reading _Caught the bastard, come to the woods out back._

Confused but worried, Salva ran in that direction. Winter mist covered the woods but visibility was decent enough to find what he was looking for, and the weak rays of sunlight only just managed to get past the leafless trees which lent a darkness to the woods. Salva came to a clearing, and found his dad standing around as if waiting for something. He flinched at the newcomer, but recognising his son he relaxed.

"We found the guy that hurt you, the cops finally tracked him down. How about getting some revenge?"

The burning in his eyes sent shivers down Salva's spine, making him nod. Cusí grinned, and at that moment a rustling came from the other side of the clearing. Salva froze, suddenly incredibly sweaty – it was indeed the man from six years prior. He eyed the family haughtily, with a hand in his pocket where no doubt a gun rested.

"I got a letter from the boss to come see you. What do you want? I brought some weed, maybe some Acid? Or you guys up for something a little stronger."

Without a word, Salva's father pulled out a revolver and aimed it squarely at the gangster's heart, despite there being about 20 metres between them and there was no way he could land that shot. Just as his finger squeezed the trigger, another gunshot rang out, and to Salva everything slowed down to a crawl. His brain was trying to process the image in front of him – father falling back, with his eyes glazed and his rage turning to pain. Then it all sped up – he crumpled into the snow with a weighty crunch, and his son rushed to his side. He weakly turned to speak.

"Son… I'm so sorry… I was just so angry, at what he took from us…"

Without thinking, the words that had clogged Salva's throat disappeared.

"Dad… Please… you don't deserve this…"

"You spoke? Well, at least I get something for this." His head fell back, and the light was draining from his eyes. "Thank you. I heard my son talk, one last time."

As he wheezed those last words, Cusí Domínguez lay dead in the snow. His son crossed himself, and closed his father's eyes. He stood up, the tears already streaming down his face. Sadness initially ruled, but it gave way to something else – frothing, all-consuming, blazing rage.

A grunting and swearing voice caught his attention so he turned to face it. The gangster was clutching his foot, his father's shot evidently hitting there instead of the intended chest. Without a word, Salva picked up the gun and aimed, his hand oddly steady. Five shots rang out, a new blood spurt coming from the man with each crack that rang out into the afternoon air.

As police sirens were all around him, tears were streaming down his cheeks and the smoking gun rested at his side, all Salvador could think was one small, tiny sentence that he mumbled.

"It should've been me."

Luckily, it was quickly decided no charges were to be faced due to it being self-defence and his father apparently arranging the fight. Salvador stood at his funeral, only accompanied by a handful of relatives and some of his co-workers. Cusí Domínguez had been an isolated man, and it dawned on Salvador that all his energy had been spent on his son and little else. All he could feel was a growing urge to lay in a grave next to his father, and just let all the pain go. But as he left the graveyard, a thought penetrated his misery.

 _You deserve this pain. It was your fault. Go on living, and continue to suffer. Death is too good for you._

It was like the pain was buried with that thought. Salvador was getting exactly what he deserved, such was life. Thoughts of the honourless, painful death his target had received fit what he had done. It was like in that moment all of existence stretched out into those greyed streets. All of life was a balance of positive and negative – everyone received what they deserved. He had let his father die, and now he had to suffer for it.

Presently, these memories came back to him as he looked upon the young man in a hospital bed, recovering from his injuries. This man was receiving exactly, precisely, mathematically, what he deserved.


End file.
